


honeysuckle

by PersephoneHemingway



Series: spyglass//gunmetal [7]
Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Angst, Anticipation, Assassins & Hitmen, Assets & Handlers, Banter, But With a Vaguely Canon Ending, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coitus Interruptus, Copious repetition of one another's name(s), Dirty Talk, Disarming suggestively, Division-Era Nikita, Ending has a very van-gogh-in-that-one-episode-of-doctor-who kind of vibe, F/M, First Time Together, Foreplay, Honeypot, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Introspection, Mentor/Protégé, Neck Kissing, Nikita as Josephine, One Shot, Partners to Lovers, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Seduction, Self-Doubt, Small Breasts, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Switching, Teasing, Tongues, Vaginal Fingering, giving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: Nikita and Michael. they were calm, and they were crisis.a little pwp in which they gave in to each other while Nikita was still Division
Relationships: Michael Bishop/Nikita Mears
Series: spyglass//gunmetal [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477025
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	honeysuckle

_So many dead, so_ I _wouldn't be cancelled. And what am I? An ex-drug addict who couldn't hold a job. A former death row inmate. A killer.  
All for businessmen who've accidentally overheard secrets, civilians caught in explosive collateral, and the occasional bad guy.  
All of these lives sacrificed to the strength of my _obedience _._

&

Enter: stunning world-class assassin, Division operative Nikita.

She was a disaster-turned-perfectionist. It was like a switch— suddenly her costs were overwhelmed by the magnitude of her benefits. A prized asset.

But sometimes the switch would flip back.

The way she stripped her guns in the armory let everyone know how she was feeling. Michael was notified immediately.

The others weren't trained to defuse this kind of bomb.

&

With them, everything was always a tense build up to a sudden escalation. They waited, reacted, and began again.

One night was too much— when she finally understood why Amanda spent so much time teaching her to doll herself up.

He expected her to have some kind of destructive reaction, but he didn't expect it to self-destructive. He doesn't know where she managed to get all the alcohol—if he weren't so concerned, he'd probably be impressed.

"Nikita."

"Isn't it _Josephíne_?" She tipped her bottle back with a bitter expression.

"Nikita, stop."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a trained dog, Michael. I might be one, but as you can see, I'm a bit busy trying to forget that right now."

“You need to understand—”

“No. I don’t. I just need to be _obedient._ ”

He sighed her name, as he does, and did his best to offer her some kind of comfort in his presence.

She didn’t take it badly, but she didn’t take it well.

He was there, and she was vulnerable. She didn’t need anyone seeing her like this anymore, _especially_ not Michael— but she knew him, and she knew he wouldn’t leave her like this. _He thinks his staying is a kindness to me. He wouldn’t forgive himself if I took a sudden turn and he wasn’t here; he thinks himself capable of protecting me— even from myself._ And Nikita didn’t have the heart to tell him any different— that he made her feel weak when she so desperately wanted to prove to him that she was strong; that she wasn’t the same broken thing he caught escaping, having to pry a gun from her hands as her wild eyes came to terms with the fact that there was nowhere to run. Nikita was the untamed failure of a recruit Michael had to protect from cancellation, tamed by the last-chance ultimatum that she had no choice but give in to. He kept her docile, taught her to obey for her own survival— _but survival felt an awful lot like surrender._

She was tired of Michael only seeing her in a state of surrender.

She wanted him to leave. He needed to stay. So of course, precedent stands— she gave in to him.

&

It was a cycle of calm and crisis.

Somewhere in there, Nikita realized _Michael cared for her_ , and though she tried to prevent it, she started to care for him too. It was no use for both of them to be in denial.

&

She needed control.

Nikita may have been forced into Josephíne, but Josephíne gave Nikita her first real sense of power. It may not have been free will, but the kind of power she had as Josephíne was the beginning of any control she’d have over her own actions.

It was the most control she’d ever had.

She may not have controlled her life, but she could control her actions— such was the double-edged gift of Division.

Her body had become a weapon she knew how to use.

Michael was told Nikita was in outfitting, so he announced himself to her before using his phone to check his email on the waiting couch. Soon enough, she called out from behind the closet screen.

"Hey Michael?"

"Mm?"

"Is this okay?" She walked out in something strappy, black, and bare; the designer clearly knew how to optimize on the appeal of negative space. "Convincing?"

After the initial surprise at her apparel, his eyes lingered on her body.

She looked down and brought her palms up as if to cup her breasts. "I- I know I'm not really-"

No. He was gonna cut that doubt off quick. "Nikita. Shut up. You're stunning."

She couldn't help her soft smile, but she did have enough presence of mind to morph it into a smirk. She prowled toward him in long-limbed stretches as a mountain lion, visualizing the kill.

"Yeah, Michael?" She draped herself into his lap and set his phone aside. Their body heat mingled as she held his attention. "Do you want me?"

"Nikita..." It was a warning, but she knew he'd cave easy. He always did with her. She drew closer to him, her voice lowering into a sultry croon.

"Mm, something wrong, Michael? You look a bit flushed. You can have me, you know. You don't have to be so serious all the time. Come on, afraid to break some rules?  
What would Percy think, his steadfast soldier, undone by the wild recruit he'd promised he'd gotten under control..."

And Michael snapped. With a burst, he wrestled Nikita to the carpet and pinned her quickly, because she let him. 

"So boss, how'd I do? Think I can handle the mission?" Her voice was breathy, and her eyes held an emotion between destroyed and desperate.

Michael eased up on her immediately, almost recoiling. His following sigh was filled with all of the unspoken tension between them: his dead wife and child, her past... their present: Division, Percy, Amanda, missions, orders, cancellations, fealty – these troubles and sadnesses clouded the room, and Nikita knew.

She was always pushing. Little nudges at him, here and there, a whistle's wind against a mountain— reminding him she was there with him, whether or not he decided to move. She danced around him; she didn't stay still, couldn't get comfortable. They couldn't afford that.

But tonight the right note resonated and he was echoing back.

Their eyes were locked, and then Michael's tongue descended.

He licked at her neck, tasted her sweat, soaked up her noises and surprise.

She was receptive, she squirmed, she wanted to touch him back— touch him _too_ ; for the first time he was really going to let her.

He traveled quickly: shoulder to collarbone to sternum to breasts. Her nipples pebbled and she whined. A shiver sent her hands into his hair as he released her wrists absently.

" _Michael_ ,"

"Mm, Nikita..."

His voice rumbled against her sensitive buds and she clutched him closer to her, trembling from the tender contact tingling all the way down to her toes.

"You really don't mind..?"

"Who knew you were so self-conscious."

"Michael."

"Of course I don't mind. Especially when you're so responsive with what you have,” He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. “I want all of you, Nikita.”

He started to trail kisses down her stomach.

"Michael," breathlessly, "kiss me _please_."

"Please, huh? That's a new one for you, Nikita."

She made some sound of indignation and yanked him up by his hair to crash their lips together. Their moans filled each other’s mouths.

She pulled his shirt out from his pants in several handfuls and dipped the tips of her fingers beneath his belt. Michael only stopped her when he realized she was searching to disarm him. He took her wrists in his hands and looked down at her knowingly.

“Well if I’m stripped of weapons, shouldn’t you be too?”

He let her go at her pout, but pushed her lightly so she stepped back.

He disarmed himself, making a point of pulling the weapons from his body smoothly and setting them down with care.

Nikita crossed her arms and suckled at her bottom lip while she waited, ready to pounce again once he’d slid off his shoulder holster.

He flicked his eyes to hers as if to say _finished_ , then held out his arms and beckoned her to him with his palms. She landed with her thighs in his arms, her arms ‘round his neck, and her hands cradling his head at the base of his hairline, flickering her fingers like the lather of a salon-sink shampoo.

She buried a laugh of release—of _relief_ —into his shoulder, delighted to have him _with her_. _To herself_.

“I _have_ you, you’re _mine_..” The words left her like a dream she never meant to speak aloud. Michael softened to her and fluttered kisses anywhere his lips could reach.

“ _Yours_ , huh?” Michael pulled back to look at her. “Guess I don’t mind.” He squeezed the thighs still in his arms. She shimmied and tried to use her ankles to relieve Michael of his pants. A chuckle, and two taps to her legs.

“Down, now.” He eased her back to standing; she sunk to her knees of her own accord and worked him free with her hands.

Once she had his cock bare before her, she licked her lips.

“Nice, but not quite what I had in mind…” Michael backed up against a wall, slid down with his weight leaning against it, then patted his lap. “Come on. Over here, on top, Nikita.” Eyes bright, she folded down and _crawled_ to him— saucy like a stalking cat.

She settled over him with her bent knees to either side of his legs and nestled his cock between her cheeks. She kissed him high behind his ears, bit her nails into his shoulders, and started to grind. His hands roamed.

She followed his every guiding touch— a dip down for lips, a tightening of her belly for more arch, more tension, a squeeze to release and smooth loose, melting more into him before pulling back for friction and the space to breathe.

Like this, he could order her, and she’d listen without a fight— she didn’t need to fight when she wanted it too.

"Mm, so obedient for me..."

"Only for you, Michael..."

"I know, spitfire girl..” he brushed across a nipple. “Under my thumb.." A soft gasp.

"As if you weren't around my finger, Michael."

"Oh yes," he suddenly flips her underneath him and shoves his arm between her legs. She's pinned with his body weight squealing as he slips a digit into her pretty pussy. "around my finger, Nikita. Under my thumb." He flicked his thumb up to press on her clit. One of her hands flinches down to where he's connected with her, brushing against his hand and swiping up her dripping juices.

She draws back and sneaks her fingers down Michael's back and between his cheeks, teasing at his hole before slipping in a finger.

"You're wrapped around _me_ , Michael," she purred, and he responded with a surprised and satisfied groan.

Together though, they were always upping the ante.

"You think you'll let me take you sometime?"

"As long as you can take what you give twice over, Nikita, because you know I'll have to remind you who's in charge once you're done having your fun."

"That's assuming _you_ can even take what I give to begin with, Michael."

He grunts, and slams his hips to hers in a way that shoves her up the carpet gasping. She throws her free arm back to prevent herself from colliding with a table leg, then arches up in laughter.

"Feeling a need to prove yourself now?"

"Just shut up, Nikita."

She curled in and hooked back, and Michael groaned. Nikita laughed and then she was under him gasping out mercy as he pinched her clit and used his body weight to his advantage.

He immediately pressed further and rubbed until she came, giving her no recovery time before he flipped her onto her belly to eat her ass.

His cheeks were pressed into hers, spread enough for his tongue by his hands, but enough to smother if he stopped breathing.

She's crying out, and he's thorough—tongue circling her rim and slipping in just a touch, to tease. She tries bucking back to get him deeper, to feel her vagus nerve firing for more, but she's trembling-weak from coming and it's so easy for Michael to keep her down. One hand is at her lower back and the other is pulling her fingers down to her pussy—he pushes her fingers inside her before he starts to flick and pinch at her clit, and—

&

All of this, (and more)—  
maybe it was always going to be too much—  
but all of this,  
and she still left him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. does it count as “coitus interruptus” if the author is the one interrupting?  
> 2\. “it’s been ages since i started writing this, i’ve already included all the smut i’d wanted to, and i want this out of my drafts,” or “intentional experimental ending”? the world may never know.


End file.
